


cherry wine

by stanlons



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Fluff and Angst, New Kid Stan, Song Lyrics, football player mike
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-18 23:20:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14224026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stanlons/pseuds/stanlons
Summary: Stanley Uris moves to Tulsa, Oklahoma a week before summer ends. When school starts, he catches the attention of a certain group of people, Mike Hanlon being one of them.





	1. homestead

The Uris family moved to Tulsa, Oklahoma in a rush. Their temple had been bought out, leaving them with no income, and Andrea’s sister lived in the heart of the city, saying that they recently had a Rabbi drop out. So, without giving Stan a weeks warning, they threw their shit into boxes, and up and left Colorado Springs without looking back. 

   It’s not like Stan would miss it that much. He was a Jewish kid that didn’t look Jewish, dressed like a dumbass and was, according to them,  _ too eccentric and sarcastic _ . Colorado didn’t like him that much, and they made it known by leaving him with a small friend group. He had two friends that were barely his friends, just people that could tolerate him enough to let him hang around, make him seem like less of a loser than he really was. 

 

   But now, Tulsa was his fresh start. Stanley could make new friends, maybe do a few extracurriculars, and get himself out of the rut he’d been in since middle school. But, it was fucking  _ Oklahoma _ , how interesting could it be? He was one state off from the Toto We’re Not In Kansas Anymore, and he didn’t know how to feel about that. But he didn’t have time to think, because he was supposed to be unpacking on the night before his first day of school. Find an outfit, put it on the back of his chair, and lay in bed with his phone for a few hours, absentmindedly watching Youtube videos before passing out over his tenth “That’s Cringe”. But tonight, his mind was going wild with pessimistic thoughts about how everyone could hate him, and he would finish his Junior and Senior year in a foreign town with no remote friends and being branded as  _ that _ kid. 

 

   Andrea Uris told him people would love him. Stan was a bright young boy, and nowadays people loved sarcasm. Tulsa was different than the Springs. People weren’t snobby and stuck up their asses, they didn’t think they were better because they took family trips to ski in the Hamptons while you stayed at home to Monarch Mountain. She didn’t know that high schools were usually all the same, built off the foundations of the same kids in different personalities. 

 

  “Ma, I’m going for a quick walk,” he calls into the living room, where Andrea and Donald are spread out across the sectional, her feet on his legs as they watch Chopped. The woman poked her head over the back of the sofa to look at him with stern eyes. 

 

  “It’s 10 o’clock, Stanley. Why do you need to go for a walk this late?” Donald moved his head to look at his son also, giving him the look that said  _ don’t overstep, kid _ . Stan shuffled his feet for a second, fidgeting with his hands as he looked up to his mother through his eyelashes. 

 

   His voice was light, not as loud and laced with sarcasm as it usually was. “I’m just nervous for tomorrow. You know, a ten minute thing to clear my nerves. I’ll be back before you even remember I’m gone, I promise.” 

 

  “Go.” With that word, Stan carries himself out the door at the quickest pace he can go without it being certified as running. His earbuds are slipped into his ears and he pressed play, and starts to walk along the sidewalk. The sky was dark, and if it weren’t for the methodically placed street lights, he would be in pitch black darkness. Most lights were off inside of houses, except for the one he was about to pass, which had on every single light that was able to be on, apparently. It was bizarre, and out of place. It stuck out like a sore thumb in the neighborhood. 

 

  Stanley looked down to his phone for a moment to change his song, when all of the sudden his body was hitting the ground in a blackout daze, and someone was running to help him up. “I’m so sorry,” someone says, and his eyelids flutter open and shut for a second before he opens them for real. When they finally open, he sees a tall boy his age standing over him, jet black hair covering his forehead in wild curls, much more unkempt than his own. He wore thin framed black glasses, with brown eyes behind them that squinted down at his figure. “I was fucking with a soccer ball, I didn’t even see you coming. Really sorry!”

 

  “It’s fine,” Stan replied, sticking his hand out for the boy to help him up from his spot on the pavement. He was okay, the only thing that remotely hurt was the palm of his hand that he used to break his fall, but once he got over the initial shock he was fine. The boy squinted at him again once he was stood in front of him, studying his face for a second before opening his mouth again. 

 

  “You’re that kid that moved in down the street, yeah?” He lifted a hand up to push his hair back from where it hung, but it was no use, as it bounced back to his forehead as soon as his hand left. Stan nodded his head to him wondering where this was going. “Richie Tozier, Tulsa’s biggest dumbass.”

 

  “Stan Uris,” he says, sticking his hands into his pockets for a moment. Richie moves swiftly to the side, hopping over his own white picket fence and into his yard. Stan watches intently as he leans on to the wood for a second, saluting to him weirdly with two fingers. 

 

  “See you around, Stan the Man!” He turns and jogs back into his house, closing the door and locking it behind him. Stanley continues to walk for a second, before crossing over the street and going back to his house. When he opens the door, Andrea and Donald are asleep on the sofa, and he locks and unlocks the door three times like clockwork, before skipping up the steps to his room. 

 

  It takes four melatonin pills to get him asleep, and he does so finally just before the clock strikes midnight, and wakes up at 6 am. 

 

  The Uris household was weird in the mornings. Andrea was a morning person, who loved to make breakfast, while Stan and Donald were the opposite of morning people. The only thing that could wake the teenager up was a cold shower bright and early, and this morning was no exception. He stood under the steady stream of water, which hovered a few degrees below lukewarm, and let it run over his shoulders and hair. 

 

  “Honey, hurry up!” Andrea knocked on the bathroom door, just as Stan had finished washing his hair. He wrapped a towel around himself and rushed across the hall into his bedroom, where clothes lay on his chair, waiting for him to put them on. 

 

  It was no secret that Stan dressed like a kindergartner, but also Steve from Blues Clues. He got many comments and analogies based on his sense of style, that ranged from  _ Chicken Little _ to  _ Bob Saget in Full House _ . But he didn’t mind it, he dressed for comfort, and he personally liked his sense of style. The outfit he had picked out for his first day was a pair of overalls and a green and red striped shirt, with the white tennis shoes his mother got him for back to school. They were skate shoes, all white with flat bottoms that came up to just below his ankle. It all matched like he liked them to, and the kids at Panorama High didn’t have to like it. He dressed for himself. 

 

  Deep down, he knew he craved attention. Everyone did. But Stan would never admit that he dressed to stand out, as it was the only thing he could stand out for. In his mind, he had an average body, an average personality, and an average face. So, he dressed to impress. 

 

   “I’m leaving, ma! Love you!” His voice emptied into the house, reaching the far rooms and hallways to that everyone heard him. He heard scrambling for a second, and then Andrea appeared in front of him with her phone. 

 

  “I need a picture of your first day! Please, sugar bug?” Her lip pouted at him, and he frowned at her. 

 

  “I told you to stop calling me that,” his lips shifted into a grin quickly, and he posed with his hand in his pocket for her. She snapped a picture, then reached to hug him around his waist. He had gotten a bit taller over the summer, reaching six feet while his mother was stuck at five foot four. Donald was still taller than him by a good four inches, which he hoped to catch up to soon. 

 

  “Have a good day, sugar bug. I love you long time!” She called after him as he left, jogging out the door and slipping his earbuds into his ears. 

 

   Stan Uris was an odd personality, and his neighborhood knew it that morning. Old ladies sat on their porches with coffee, watching him strut by as he lip sync-ed to  _ Love Shack _ , methodically moving his feet to the beat as he passed by the suburban houses. One of his feet passed behind his other, and he spun on the pavement to the music in front of the house that he fell by the night before. He didn’t notice the group of teenagers in the driveway, nor how they were watching him walk with his deep filtered attitude. 

 

   “Who’s that?” Michael Hanlon asked Richie as they piled into his car, watching the curly haired boy as he went out of eyesight past the maple tree at the corner of Richie’s yard. Mike climbed into the backset beside Bill, letting Eddie have the passenger even though his legs were shorter. 

 

   “Stan Uris, he moved in across the street from you. Don’t you pay attention at all?” Richie snarked, adjusting his mirror as he brought the car to life. It was the beginning of their junior year, and Richie  _ just _ got his license after taking driver’s ed the summer after their Freshman year. Finally, they didn’t have to ride the bus together anymore, which was a blessing. 

 

  Mike’s eyebrows furrowed together as he looked at his friend. “No, I don’t. I was in Michigan all summer, dumbass. Hello?” Richie rolled his eyes and shook his head, turning up the radio to the point that he could feel the vibrations of the music in the seat below him. 

 

  “Can’t hear you!” 

 

  In his hands was his schedule, with all of the classes he was bound to take for the year. Most of them were core classes, things like English III and Civics, but he was also taking weight lifting and music theory to go along with it. 

 

 The one thing that he and his grandmother disagreed on were his academics. Mike was smart enough to get into AP classes, every year he was recommended for them by his teachers, but he never took them. To him, football was more important, as well as his mental health. If he were to play football  _ and _ take AP classes, he wouldn't have a social life or happiness. 

 

 But this was the year that he croaked under pressure, and just for her, he took one AP class: AP Chemistry. Science was something he could enjoy without getting too stressed out, and he always found Chemistry to be quite fun. His grandmother was off his case for a while, and he could breathe without feeling smothered. 

 

  The school was crowded when they got there, students loitering outside as well as in the halls and the staircases. Bill was the first one out of the car, shutting the door behind him as he waited for everyone else and pointing out Ben and Beverly in the courtyard. “O-Over there guys!” His stutter had gotten better over the summer, he could go sentences without doing it at all. It was only when he got really excited, like now, when it came out and he couldn’t help it. 

 

  “Stan the man!” Richie called, upon seeing the boy sitting on a large boulder outside of the school. Stan never heard him with his earbuds blasting music at full volume, yet yanked them out when he saw them approaching. Mike could hear the music coming through the headphones until he scrambled to turn it off, just because he had it up so loud. “This is Stan, new to the neighborhood.”

 

  Mike smiled at him, and Stanley stood up with his bookbag on his back , shoving his headphones into the pockets of his overalls. “I gotta go figure out this hell maze before I’m late to every one of my classes, see you!” He cocked a wave to the kids, before turning around. Mike Hanlon made the swift decision to race after him, catching up with him within seconds. 

 

  “What classes do you have?” Mike asked, stepping in front of him and walking backwards for a second. Stan stuffed his hand into his pocket and bringing out a neatly folded piece of paper. It was pin flat, with no crumples, and Mike carefully opened it in his own hands. “Wow, all AP. French III, nice. Zoology, Music Theory. Cool. We have Chem and Music Theory together, juniors have the same lunch. You’re in French with our senior friend, Bill. He’s the one wearing the jorts. You have Contemporary Literature with Eddie, tiny one, and Beverly, you haven’t met her, Pre-Calc with Eddie too. Zoology with Ben, he’s buff, you’ll know him when you see him. Civics with Richie. Have fun today, Stanley.” 

 

  “How’d you know my real name?” Stan retaliated, putting his schedule back inside of his pocket. Mike smiled at him, clapping his hands together and side stepping around his body, making Stan turn the other way as he walked. 

 

  “I guessed,” then he ran away, jogging while turning to give Stan finger guns. Halfway across the courtyard he stopped, turning around to shout, “I’m Mike Hanlon, by the way!” The boy shook his head, staring at his feet for a second. Tulsa was already a thousand times better than Colorado Springs, the boy he just met being the cherry on top. 

 

 

  
  



	2. saturation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan goes throughout his first day at Panorama High, and Mike has football tryouts after school.

    Stanley hated being the new kid. It was a constant cycle of,  _ we have someone new to the district! Introduce yourself! _ And then he would have to say his name and where he was from, which triggered questions about Colorado that he couldn’t stand, as well as a fact about him. Most of the time it was  _ I’m Jewish _ or  _ I like birds _ . 

 

  It started with Pre-Calculus, in which Mr. Jamison lectured for the period about the importance of turning in your homework on time. He gave a syllabus, and he was the first to ask Stan a fact about himself. This time, Stan was Jewish. A boy from the back of the class said, “where’s your tiny hat?” The class laughed at that, and he rolled his eyes with a slight smile and sat down. Eddie gave him an apologetic look from across the room. 

 

  “Not all Jewish people have to wear Kippahs, and apparently all people in Pre-Calculus don’t have to have a brain,” Stanley blurted, pursing his lips after the words slipping out of his mouth. He didn’t mean to, this was exactly why people didn’t like him in Colorado, but everyone in the class laughed at his words harder than they had the other boy’s. It made his heart swell a little bit, just enough to make a difference. 

 

  In French, he had to introduce himself in the language. The teacher was surprised that he knew how, his pronunciation spot on.  _ “ _ _ Je m’appelle Stan et j'ai déménagé ici du Colorado,”  _ Madame Clement smiled and told him to sit. The class stared at him in part, expecting him to stumble over his words like most of them did. Everyone had to introduce themselves after him, all in French. When it was Bill’s turn, he only stuttered once, which was good for him. 

 

_ “Je m’appelle  _ _ Bill et moi j-jouer au baseball _ _ ,”  _ the words tumbled from his mouth and he sat as soon as he got done saying it, one of his teammates started whooping for him from the back of the classroom. Bill turned and smiled, white teeth gracing the room. After middle school, he had gotten popular. It was something that hit him with a shock, but it came with being on the baseball team, and being damn good at it. He was one of the school’s best hitters. 

 

  Baseball didn’t start until February, but the recreational team started playing in the downtown park soon, which he was on. Considering it was only August, Mike didn’t have football practice for another week, but tryouts were soon, and a group of sophomore boys were trying out for varsity in a push of confidence. He would have to try out with them, even though he was supposed to have a predetermined spot on the team.  _ Too many people trying out _ , coach had said,  _ you all have to show your best.  _

 

  Stan didn’t play sports. He didn’t do much of anything, really. Maybe that would change this year, but he doubted it would. Extracurriculars sucked. 

 

  The bell rung, and he stood up and slung his backpack over his shoulders once again. Next period was Zoology, which passed by faster than the rest, somehow. The teacher was nice, Mrs. Vanguard talked about the syllabus and then explained a bit about what the class was going to be about. Not much happened, except for a girl arriving twenty minutes late and then being sent to the office. 

 

   As the bell rung again, Stan glanced down at his schedule for the hundredth time that day.  _ AP Chemistry, room 305,  _ it read, and he took off in the direction of what he guessed the classroom to be in. He was correct, as he came along the classroom with minutes to spare. Sitting down at an empty bench, he looked around, noticing Mike Hanlon sitting by himself and on his phone at the bench next to his. Mr. Jenson spoke loudly, “pick your seats wisely, where you sit today will be your seat for the year. Unless you talk all the time, then it’s a different story, people.” 

 

  The boy looked around, trying to see if any of his friends were in the class until he landed on Stanley Uris. A smile spread across his features, and he headed to his bench slowly. That was, until he saw another boy walking towards Stan, in which he sped up and threw himself down at the stool while the other boy was a few feet away. Spinning on the balls of his feet, Mike sighed as he walked away and didn’t put up a fight. “Cool if I sit here?” Stan looked up from his phone and over to him, eyebrows raised. 

 

  “Huh? Oh, yeah, that’s fine,” Stan locked his phone and slid it into the pocket of his overalls, adjusting his sleeves as an act of boredom. It was an old shirt his mother picked up from s thrift store, christmas green and red spreading across the fabric in thick stripes. His overalls were from a store in the mall that he and his mom went to in Colorado. They hung loosely around his legs a bit, being cuffed at the bottom over his trainers, which were pearl white with matching white laces. 

 

  Mike was a more simpler person, opting for a pair of jeans and a green v-neck t-shirt, with some kind of Jordan’s on his feet. If it were later in the season, he would have his classic letterman jacket around him. Stan would see that soon, within the next couple weeks he would get it from coach when the season officially started. 

 

  The tardy bell rang and everyone took the rest of the seats, Mr. Jenson standing at the front of the class with a smile. He was a jolly man, balding at the top and wearing a sweater vest. His face was covered in a salt and pepper beard that travelled down to the middle of his chest, making him look more like Dumbledore than anything else. The skin of his cheeks was red, and held wrinkles every so often. “How has your day been so far, young man?” He looked to a boy sitting in the front, Mike recognizing him to be Victor Criss, and Stan not recognizing him at all. 

 

  “It’s been alright,” the boy shrugged, and Mr. Jenson nodded. Looking around for the next culprit, his eyes locked upon Stan in his bright clothing and curly hair. 

 

  “What about you? You’re the new boy, right?’ His voice wasn’t teasing in the slightest, which was a difference than the other teachers he had earlier. Their voices were filled with intimidation, but his was lighter. 

 

  “Yes, sir. Came from Colorado,” Stan tried to keep composure under the eyes of the class, but felt like sinking into himself and disappearing. Mike looked over at him with kind eyes and felt bad for him, it was no doubt the 400th time he had been asked that same question that day. 

 

  Mr. Jenson clapped his hands, turning back around to stand at the long bench in the front of the class. “For the next twenty minutes, you will turn to your partner and learn about them as a person. Their dream job, their aspirations. What foods they like, their pet peeves. Then, you will write a paragraph on them, and hand it in as your first grade of the semester.”

 

  Mike pulled a notebook from his backpack along with a pencil, looking over to Stan while twirling it through his fingers. “Stanley Uris, what are your aspirations?” He asked, a playful smile on his face. Stan rolled his eyes with a smile too, pulling out his own paper and pencil. Picking at the threads of his sleeves, he looked back up to Mike with bright eyes, which didn’t happen often. 

 

  “I want to go to college for art, I really like to paint and I would like to learn it professionally. Maybe be an art teacher someday, unless I make it big. I probably won’t, so art teacher is a safe bet,” Stan replies, and Mike takes notes on his paper as he speaks. When Stan looks, his handwriting is old-lady cursive, to which he smiles. 

 

  “What’s your dream school?” Mike asks, intrigued in the boy sitting next to him. 

 

  “Parsons,” Stan says, which makes him feel a little self conscious. Parsons is where every art kid wants to go to school, he’s unoriginal. But, it’s one of the best, that’s why it’s so mainstream. “What about you?” 

 

  “Syracuse, it’s in Upstate New York. I wanna play football for them. Major in Music Theory, be a music teacher unless I get drafted. I don’t think I’m that good though, so probably just a music teacher.” Stan nods and writes it down on his paper in the neat print he’s mastered over years of writing notes about everything and anything as a hobby, curly letters separated by small spaces. 

 

  “I think I know what we have in common, Michael,” Stan says, and Mike smiles at the use of his full name. He  _ hmm _ ’s in response, waiting for the answer that the boy will give. “Self criticism.” 

 

  “Yeah, you’re probably right.” A full page of notes later, the twenty minutes is up. Mr. Jenson starts to explain lab safety for the rest of the class, handing out the paper for the lab fee that was due in the next two weeks.

 

  Soon, they left upon the bell ring, the teacher calling,  _ “paragraphs due tomorrow!” _ after them as they flooded into the hall. 

 

  Civics with Richie was pure entertainment for Stan, passing by quickly as the curly haired boy bickered with their teacher for the period on no end. The only reason he didn’t end up with a detention was because he had the same teacher during his freshman year for world history, and he was her star student that year. She knew him well, and stepped circles around his snarky remarks with his own. “ _ Richie, if you spent half the time as you did talking, running, you would make it onto the varsity track team. Oh wait, you are running! Your mouth. Now listen to the syllabus please, Tozier _ .” 

 

   “Stan!” Richie called behind him as they exited the classroom. He pulled out an earbud and turned around, looking for the culprit of calling his name and finding Richie running up to him at a slow speed. “Sit with us at lunch? By us I mean everyone you saw this morning, except Bill. Bitch is a senior, eating with his baseball friends next period. Loser.” 

 

  “Sure,” Stan shrugged, pushing his phone into his pocket as they came across the cafeteria.  _ You buying? _ Richie asked him, and he nodded and entered the lunchline with the boy in front of him. “Pizza, peaches, that’s all,” he recited to the lunch lady as he went down the line, and she handed him his food with a monotonous  _ have a nice day. _

 

  “Put in your student ID,” Richie told him once he approached the key pad, so he did, the seven digit number that he had memorized within two class periods. 1896267. They walked over to the table Stan guessed was theirs, sitting down at the end. 

“Ah, hey Stan!” Bev greeted, sitting sideways with her legs on Ben’s lap. She was eating out of a jar of peanut butter with a spoon, which was a normal Bev thing nowadays. Cigarettes for breakfast, tacks for snacks, and peanut butter to pass lunch by. 

 

  Mike approached the table, wondering where to sit, but eventually plopping down in between Stan and Richie. The former sat weird in chairs, Mike observed, especially now. His thin legs were folded up to his chest as he sat on the bench, eating little bites of pizza as he listened to conversations. In Chem, he sat on the stool with his legs folded criss cross, hands in his lap. “Hi, Stan,” he said softly, turning to the rest of his friends with his signature white smile. 

 

  “Mike!” Sounded from behind them, a boy with blonde hair coming up to pat Mike on the shoulder. He looked up to greet him, only saying a quick  _ hey, Jackson, _ hoping the boy would walk away soon. “You coming to tryouts tonight?”

 

  “Yeah, of course,” Mike attempted to sound nice, but it was hard because of how much of a dick Jackson was to other people. The blonde nodded to people at the table, stopping once his eyes landed on Stan. 

 

  “Who’s the kid?” Jackson says, pointing at Stan with a weird look on his face. He dressed weird, had hair that was too curly and a star of David necklace around his neck. 

 

  “Stan Uris, he’s new,” Richie spoke up with an edge to his voice, signalling Jackson to not fuck with him. Of course, the blonde didn’t listen. 

 

  “You should come out to tryouts, man. You’d fit right in with the sophomores. Varsity always needs someone to use as a battle ram, yeah?” Jackson laughed, waiting for someone to laugh along with him. Everyone expected Stan to stay silent, as he didn’t seem like the type to act out. 

 

  But, his mouth would soon open, his voice gritty as he spoke. “Thanks, but I would rather have at least ten brain cells by the time I’m 25. Great offer though, man. Gotta say, you almost sold me.” Jackson's face contorted into confusion for a moment, and he turned around and walked away with an annoyed flair to his step. Mike chuckled to himself, Jackson had always been annoying and rude to people. It was a wonder they hadn’t told him to stay home from tryouts yet. 

 

 The rest of the day passed by quickly for Mike, who went onto tryouts after school. For him they were a breeze, he could run suicides and throw better than anyone on the team. Jackson, on the other hand, struggled through practice, not being able to catch the ball properly and not producing good run times. 

 

  “Alright, boys, gather up,” Coach Burns spoke, looking down at his clipboard. “If I call your name, you’re on the team. Harrison, Quarterback. Gavin B, Tight End. Gavin R, Running Back. Harley, Running Back. Michael, Wide Receiver.” 

 

  Mike’s chest expanded as the Coach continued to call names, ignoring what happened after his own was called. He made it, the main Wide Reciever on the Varsity team. He was majorly proud of himself, and couldn’t wait to get home and tell his grandpa. Football was a Hanlon family tradition, every man in his family played in some way, even if it was just on a bench. But the past two generations had been stars at Panorama, and Mike was no exception. 

 

  “Coach, what about me?” Jackson yelled as they broke apart, looking to the man with a sunken face. 

 

  “Guess the sophomores had you beat, Jackson. Better luck next year.” 

 

  Mike took that as the cue to run away, jogging down and into Richie’s waiting car. He and Eddie watched him try out from the comfort of the vehicle, and both looked ecstatic when he came back. “Did you make it, did you make it!” Richie exclaimed, turning around in his seat. 

  “Wide Receiver, baby!” Mike called, grinning widely. The two in the front seat whooped for him as they pulled out of the parking lot, and he began digging through his backpack for a piece of gum. A piece of paper brushed against his hand and he yanked it out, not expecting anything to be outside of a folder just yet. Reading the first couple of words, he knew what it was immediately

 

_ Stan Uris. I can’t really describe him for you that well, Mr Jenson, but not because I didn’t learn anything. There’s just a lot of important things about him. For instance, he wants to go to school for art. He knows gymnastics, and he might try out for the cheerleading squad as a tumbler, but only if the kids here wouldn’t ban him from society for being a male cheerleader. His words, not mine. He likes birds, and they’re his favorite thing to draw. In Colorado, he wasn’t liked at his school that well. They weren’t like our school, they thought he was weird. I think he’s pretty cool, you know? I could tell you a thousand other things he told me, but I’ll save them for another day. I think he’s going to be your star student, Mr Jenson. Rise above all of us, leave us in the dust.  _

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi if you read this thank u

**Author's Note:**

> theres literally no full length stanlon fics on here so i had to do yall a solid


End file.
